It’s still dark, and Howard isn’t even on yet, but I’m flying
down Franklin Avenue, destination Coffee. The opening music
(Van Halen, Jump) pounds out of the car stereo, I’m rocketing down
the 101, through Downtown and onto the 10 Freeway. Of course, it’s
only six in the morning, and already the westbound is stopped still.
It will remain that way the full distance to San Bernardino. After a
prerequisite Jamba stop in Ontario, it’s head east and Palm Springs
at 7:30.

After a few miles of slow moving traffic enough to drive one to road
rage, I turn left on Dinah Shore and right on Bob Hope and left
again on Richard Pryor or whatever the fuck old-timer celeb got a
dusty road named after their likeness, I’m fleeing eastbound on the
freeway, into the desert.

All frustration is banished from my zone, entering into Joshua Tree.
Bright blue sky makes the perfect backdrop for a perfect desert
scape – the drive through is most pleasant.

I arrive in Twentynine Palms, and set to the work I came to California
to complete.

As my body had begun to succumb to the heat of the high desert,
I could think of nothing more important than getting out of it. After a
seemingly endless hour’s drive, I pull into the first hotel recommended
by Let’s Go that I see. It was the Hampton Inn, the desk clerk seems
somewhat skeptical when I request the cheapest room. $77 bucks,
well, it’s Palm Springs, and I was in no mood to shop around. Never
mind that I saw similar hotels for $40 later on, all I could think about
was air-conditioning and a clean bathroom.